


Dessert Before Dinner

by soporsensuality (mulattafury)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Feeding Kink, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, Tentabulges, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4252767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mulattafury/pseuds/soporsensuality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His first day as an Imperial Helmsman, and Sollux is summoned to The Condesce's private quarters. He's sure it can't be anything good, but all she seems to want is to have dinner with him. At least, that's all she wants at first. Either way, Sollux is cool with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dessert Before Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TriadicUniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriadicUniverse/gifts).



> I picked one prompt but tried to combine the elements you suggested in others. Hope you enjoy! :)

“So let me guess -- The Empress, Her Imperiousness Herself, wants to congratulate me on getting through training?”

Sollux attempts something like a smirk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The feigned arrogance earns him a rough shove from one of the armed escorts leading him deeper into the cavernous corridors of the imperial flagship. “Or maybe they finally fried that poor asshole they have bolted up in the helmsblock, and figured his descendant was the next best thing?”

Still silence from the two highbloods that march him along at a hurried pace. The insignias on their sleeves mark them as members of the empress’s personal guard, and Sollux is honestly fucking terrified. He tries to calm himself, to control his breathing, inhale-exhale, one-two, don’t give them the satisfaction of your fear. He knows he has value to the fleet, and is the likely successor to the flagship’s helmsman, but damn if this doesn’t qualify as the worst first day on the job ever.

The guards haven’t exactly been forthcoming about where they are going, but it quickly becomes apparent, especially when they arrive at a large double-door decorated with shells and pearls, that he is being brought to see the empress personally. It had been kind of cool to see her earlier, when she addressed the new crop of helmsmen that would take up the reins of the imperial fleet, but it had been a canned speech delivered in a stuffy room full of nervous, sweaty kids, and it was only minutes before all Sollux could think of were the millions of better uses for his time. This… this seems a little more dire.

Beyond the double doors, the Condesce’s personal quarters boast high ceilings and sparkling chandeliers. The organic grooves and spirals of the ship’s walls are inlaid with gold, the furniture is luxuriously tufted, upholstered in royal fuchsia and trimmed with ivory and jewels. The walls are hung with mirrors in the shape of seashells, paintings of rolling oceans, and a massive triptych of some tentacled horrorterror hangs above the most elegant, inviting-looking recuperacoon Sollux has ever seen. It’s all a cartoonish display of decadence, really, and if Sollux had a drop of sass left in him he would tell the room that he gets it, okay, the Condesce is very wealthy and a seadweller.

But he doesn’t. He’s confused and scared and starving, he realizes, as the smell of food hits him suddenly and they round the corner into the dining area and _holy 2hiit_ that’s her.

And of course he’s seen her in propaganda posters, and in public addresses -- a truly terrifying figure, tall and powerful, all massive horns and blade-sharp teeth, the kind of imposing character you’d expect to lead the might of the alternian fleet. He was prepared for fear, but he wasn’t prepared for her to be… kinda hot. Up close, without imposing costume or dramatic fanfare, sitting at the head of a long dining table in her tacky room, clad in a black silk robe that hugged her muscular, broad-hipped figure in a way that had Sollux rolling his lower lip between his teeth.

 _“So I see that you like gold,”_ he imagines a braver, more suicidal version of himself saying, eyebrows wagging, hips swaying as he approaches her table. _“How do you feel about gold_ -blooded?”

No, that’s dumb. Maybe --

_“I’ve got a pair of gold bars for-”_

Shit, that sucks, too.

_“Ever been gold fing--”_

Sollux’s embarrassing fantasy self is mercifully interrupted by a throat-clearing cough from one of the guards.

“Your Imperiousness? We’ve brought the young helmsman, as requested.”

She looks at them for the first time, her dark, reflective, seadweller eyes kind of shocking in the gentle glow of the chandeliers, and it makes her seem all the more real when she rolls those eyes, shrugs her shoulders, and replies to the guard with an irritated “ _And_?”

He hesitates, unsure how to react to that, so she tells him.

“ _Bye_ , damn.”

Three words, and now Sollux is alone, trying not to shake too visibly, though he guesses it doesn’t really matter since her focus has returned to her meal. It looks delicious, even though Sollux doesn’t know what most of it is. Some kind of hard-shelled aquatic bug with monstrous claws, which should probably be gross but smells amazing and gleams a mottled blue-black, sits at the center of the table, garnished with spears of seared scallops and citrus. No grubloaf and tuber paste at the empress’s table. His stomach growls audibly, and he flushes gold when her gaze rests on him once again, as though she’s just remembered he’s there.

“You gonna wash your hands or just stand there, guppy?”

Sollux is confused. He notices, for the first time, that there’s an additional place set at her table, and he’s even more confused. “Eheh. Uh, Empress, I--”

She slams her fork on the table and Sollux jumps back. “Yo pipsqueak, I invited you to this fincy ass dinner and you just gonna stand there an' let it get cold? Get. Ya lil’ ass to the bathroom. Polish ya damn flippers. And come sit down.”

“I don’t--”

“The _ablution block_.”

She points and Sollux rockets off, trying to steady his breathing and watching himself in the mirror as he washes trembling hands. This is unbelievable. This is unreal. The Condesce herself has pulled him away from the rest of his company to have dinner with her? It’s probably best, then, not to keep her waiting, so he does his best to brace himself and returns to sit at his place at the table. He’s sitting so close to her he can see the freckles at her cheekbones, the gold woven through thick plaits of hair, the tiny capillaries that span the delicate membranes of her ear-fins, and as she portions food onto his plate he wonders where her attendants are. That train of thought barely pulls out of the station before he’s staring at his plate, trying not to look disappointed that she’s served him the tail of the weird bug thing and he has no idea what to do with that.

“You know I forgot,” she said, her lips pursed in a thoughtful pout. “That scuttleclaw tail is hella messy to eat. You better be careful or you gonna ruin your uniform, guppy.”

“I could take it off,” Sollux’s mouth offers with no consultation from his brain whatsoever, and she laughs.

“Go ahead, then!”

And Sollux is an antlerbeast-in-headlights again, but he obediently strips to his waist, trying not to notice the way the Condesce’s eyes burn into every lean line on him. He’s not as scrawny as he was as an adolescent, but he looks like a meal definitely wouldn’t hurt him, and when he finally does meet her gaze he’s surprised that it’s not as judgemental as he’d expected. Her brows are furrowed, mouth drawn, eyes faraway and longing, and it feels… awkward. Like she feels as awkward as he does, like neither of them really know what they want from this encounter.

“Uh. Your… fuck, I dunno. Excellency?”

“Shore.”

“Why did you bring me here, again?”

Her expression softens and she laughs again, this time quiet and forced. “You just got me thinkin’ ‘boat someone is all. Someone I… wish I’d saved, I guess.”

“This is weird as fuck, but so do you.”

She smiles, resting her chin in one hand as the other reaches to brush the hair away from his eyes. Damn, those eyes. Sollux grins, then glances down at his plate with a shrug.

“Empress, I don’t know how the hell to eat this.”

She laughs, sliding her chair closer to his as his bloodpusher pounds in his chest. The Condesce smells like the sea and the stars, and her fingers make quick work of extracting the meat from the rock-hard shell it’s cooked in. Slowly, she dips a morsel of the meat in some kind of creamy sauce, then brings it to his lips. Sollux hesitates, but takes it into his mouth, and as the taste floods over his split tongue he closes his eyes and _moans_ , like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten, and a little smirk tugs at the corner of the empress’s mouth as she realizes that it probably is.

She feeds him in small morsels, biting her lip when his brush against her, letting him suck and lick the traces of sauce from her fingertips. He eats until his belly feels tight when she strokes her fingers over him, and his bulges, bifurcated like his warm, quick little tongue, are writhing against the front of his pants.

When she pushes her fingers into his mouth, working them in to the knuckle, he moans again as he sucks them clean, and when she nudges his legs apart and he lets her,drawing in a quick breath when her hand slides into the front of his pants. That breath comes out as a ragged groan when that hand bypasses his bulges entirely to sink two fingers into his slick, dripping nook. Her fingers pump into his nook in slow, rolling thrusts, her thumb working between the tendrils of his bulge as he shudders beneath her touch. She adds a third, driving her fingers into him with the full force of her arm behind them, the slick, wet sound drowned out by his loud, desperate moans echoing in the room as his hips rock up to take it. He’s soaked through his pants and stained the chair, his nook eagerly milking the empress’s fingers.

“Oh _ship_ , boo, you know what I just realized,” she says, although genuinely startled, slowing the pace of her fingers to a frustrated whine from Sollux. “We’ve had dinner but I ain’t even give you dessert yet. _Rude_.”

Withdrawing entirely from Sollux’s nook, she stands and pushes his chair back, moving to sit on an uncluttered edge of the table and letting her robe fall open. The tendrils of her bulge curl over her stomach and fan out in the cool air, and Sollux can’t help but stare. A fresh trickle of wetness soaks him at the sight of it, the _size_ of it, not to mention that, with its gently curling tendrils pulsing with a faint bioluminescence, even the empress’s _bulge_ is beautiful.

He kneels in front of her, sliding his nose and lips against the folds of her nook, his fingers stroking over it, up along the length of her bulge to keep it from sneaking into his mouth. He presses a kiss against it, though, lips sucking against the sensitive base before his tongue drags up along the length, lapping against the leaking tip, and when it finally pushes into her nook it draws a pleased little squeal from her. One of her hands reaches down to stroke the bases of Sollux’s horns, fingers running through his hair to knead against the tender flesh at the base, as though having a face full of royal nook isn’t discombobulating him enough. She pulls his face into her, barely giving him enough room to breathe, grinding against his mouth with eager little gasps as she scans the room for something, anything that the can pretend is a pail.

She settles on a tub that’s currently chilling two bottles of wine, reaching across the table for it and emptying the ice and bottles onto the floor. The bottles bounce, thankfully, and don’t shatter, and someone who’s not a fucking empress will have to clean up the water later because right now, she’s going to fuck the hell out of this arrogant, awkward little shit that calls himself a helmsman.

Sollux looks adorable when she pushes him back from her nook, his chin glazed with fuschia, which she swipes up with her thumb and pushes into his mouth. She tells him to finish undressing, then bends him over the table, placing the makeshift pail between his legs, down on the floor, far enough from his nook that the dripping and dribbling is audible to both of them when his trickles of genetic material hit the metal. Those trickles become a steady stream as she shoves her fingers into him again -- not because he needs it, with the way his greedy nook is flushed and slick and practically begging to be stuffed full of bulge, but because she likes to make him quiver and whine, likes to let him believe that she’s gonna let him come, getting him right up to the edge and letting him hang.

The empress pulls her fingers away from him and he whines, but he tenses up when her bulge drags leisurely along the length of his nook. She bats his away when it tries to entwine with hers, an arm sliding around his waist to hold the twin tendrils still as her own begin to push slowly into his nook. It feels like he’s pulling her in, his nook is so tight and warm, and when her bulge unfurls inside of him it’s like he’s being pushed apart, ground into everywhere at once, and his whole body quivers as a new surge of wetness drips down his thighs. It doesn’t make it to the bucket, just leaves him slick and sloppy as he holds himself open to be fucked.

And when she starts stroking her hand over his bulges, it doesn’t take much more than her clever fingers grinding into the split to send him over the edge, clawing at the table as he moans wordlessly and wave after wave of genetic fluid pulses out of his fucked-raw nook, splashing into the pitiful excuse of a bucket between his spread ankles.

He can only whine weakly, his body limp, as the Condesce fucks him harder, lifting his hips to meet her thrusts, her bulge undulating eagerly against the aching, too-sensitive walls of his nook. She pulls him up against her chest and he gives a faint shiver at the sensation of cool silk against his sweat-slick skin, and she lowers them both down to where they kneel over the bucket, not bothering to pull out of Sollux before filling him up, letting her material drip from around her pulsing bulge to join the psionic’s in the pail.

When she does pull out of him, it pours out, leaving him with fuschia-slicked thighs to match his swollen lips, and she has to catch him to keep him from falling.

“You know what,” she says finally, finding balance on shaky legs to carry him to the recuperacoon. “I think I’ma keep your lil ass around for a while. Sorry if you was excited to get right to being a shipbrain.”

“I _guess_ I can live with that,” Sollux says with the best derisive snort he can manage. “But maybe next time I can have dessert before dinner?”

 


End file.
